


that tug of familiarity

by sylwrites



Series: fall in light [7]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 12:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: There isn't a cloud in the sky, and all Betty can think is how terrifyingly perfect this all is. A beautiful day for graduation, just like her mother always planned.A coda to "Fall in Light".





	that tug of familiarity

_“In the end, it’s not the changes that will break your heart; it’s that tug of familiarity.”_

  * Jennifer E. Smith



 

A gentle breeze passes across Betty’s face, lightly tousling her carefully straightened hair so that a few errant strands stick to her lip gloss. She raises a hand to tug them back into place, then uses the same hand to shield her gaze from the bright sun as she looks down Sixth Avenue. It’s hot on her skin, but it’s a comforting, late-spring warmth rather than an oppressive summer melt, and she still feels fairly cool in her cap and gown.

 

There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and all Betty can think is how terrifyingly perfect this all is. A beautiful day for graduation, just like her mother always planned.

 

Today, Betty’s MA in journalism has her walking with the rest of the Arts and Science students at Radio City Music Hall. She decided to skip the massive all-NYU ceremony at Yankee Stadium in favour of the still-pretty-damn-huge Arts and Science ceremony. Although attending both is technically an option, she’s sat through an all-university commencement once and is not that eager to do it again. Her parents had surprisingly been okay with that; Betty would like to think that it is about them finally respecting her choices as an adult, but she knows that realistically it’s more likely that even Hal and Alice Cooper have a limit to how long they’ll sit in an uncomfortable stadium seat.

 

“Don’t fidget with your hair, Betty, or it’ll kink under the cap and ruin your photos.”

 

Her parents are of course here, and like always, her mother is in full-Alice effect. They wouldn’t miss this for the world. After all, it’s another opportunity to show their daughter off, to accumulate exaggerated moments and take photos that will undoubtedly later be used to brag to uncaring neighbours and distant relatives about Betty’s achievements.

 

 _(“What a nice girl.”_ It’s what they always say. _“We always knew she’d do well.”)_

 

Because above all things, that’s what Betty still is - a nice girl who does well. She’s finally beginning to come to terms with it after years of torturing herself over the assumed identity. There are worse things to be.

 

The sentiments around graduation have been driving Betty a little crazy, not because she’s not glad to be done her degree or because she’s overly anxious about the future, but because her parents have been here for four days already and that’s four days longer than she’d prefer. No matter how comfortable with herself or confident she thinks she’s become over her years in New York City, it seems like all it takes is one appearance from her parents (her mother, more specifically) and then she’s fifteen again, studying hard for an extra-credit assignment to push her grade that much higher.

 

Her saving grace these last few days has been Jughead, who right now is standing next to her dad a couple of steps away as her mother adjusts her ropes on her shoulders. It being a special occasion, he’d agreed to remove his beanie and wear a non-flannel shirt, but he’d otherwise not gone out of his way to behave too differently around her parents. That’s been his general _modus operandi_ ever since meeting them. It seems incredible to Betty that the advice to “just be yourself” actually works in some scenarios, but of course Jughead wouldn’t be the same guy she fell in love with if he suddenly started wearing slacks and combing his hair regularly.

 

Instead, doing nothing differently seems to have endeared him to her parents. They’ve really warmed to him over the last year; he’d gone to Riverdale with her for Christmas and had been extremely helpful, not only around the house with her parents but also with Polly’s kids. Betty is sure that that earned him extra brownie points not only with Polly and her husband but also with her parents, especially her mother. All week around the apartment, her mother has been interacting so casually with Jughead that from a cursory glance, any outsider would think that he’s been in the family for years.

 

Betty feels that way too, but it’s still strange to see Alice and Hal Cooper warm to somebody who, on the surface, is so different from them.

 

For Jughead’s part, he remains incredibly guarded. Because he’s that way around most people (save for herself, Archie, and to a certain extent, Veronica), her parents have no idea that behind the mildly-sarcastic, mostly-polite exterior of their daughter’s boyfriend is a whole other person. Sure, he’s the guy who buys flowers from the corner market on a weekly basis - not because it’s romantic or because she likes them but because he thinks it’s hilarious to watch Caramel knock them off the countertop over and over again - but he’s also the guy who holds her every night that she wakes up with terrifying nightmares and flashbacks.

 

It hadn’t happened in a while, until Betty had started editing her major project, an examination of the backlog of untested rape kits in New York state. She’s winning an award for it today; for her parents, it’s another thing to put on the mantle, another brag to run around town with, but for Betty, it’s just another part of the neverending healing process.

 

She’d embedded herself with a couple of non-profit activist groups who were pushing for additional funding to clear the backlog, but the big get for Betty was when she’d managed to talk her way into several key interviews with elected officials on the political side in Albany, including people who supported funding and people who did not. It had culminated in a somewhat toothless commitment to find the funding, but at the time of Betty’s final edit, the funds were still awaiting appropriation. From a narrative perspective, it had seemed kind of sadly fitting that despite all of the effort on the part of hundreds of activists and affiliated lobbyists, they would end up right back where they started: with nothing.

 

Shown throughout were a few personal stories of women whose rape kits were never even tested, including one for whom the statute of limitations has run out. Betty was pretty proud of the editing she’d done, and her project had gotten a minor amount of media attention. She’d managed to leverage that into a job offer with the _New York Times_ online, starting in a few weeks’ time. Everything seems like it’s falling into place, which has left Betty feeling both relieved and suspicious.

 

“I gotta go line up,” Betty realizes, checking the time on her cell phone. “I’ll meet up with you guys afterward - I’ll wait in the corner of the lobby by the bathrooms, maybe? Does that work?”

 

“That’s fine, Betty,” her father responds, kissing her cheek. “We’ll be watching. So proud of you, pumpkin.”

 

“Thanks, Dad,” she says, smiling at him and then her mother, who makes a last adjustment to the way Betty’s hair is falling on her shoulders and then steps aside. Betty presses her cell phone into Jughead’s hand. “Will you keep this for me? No pockets,” she explains, gesturing to her long gown.

 

Jughead slides her phone into his pocket. “No problem, Betts.” He leans in and brushes a chaste kiss over her lips. “Love you.”

 

“I love you too,” she replies happily, relishing in the familiar flush of comfort that even the briefest of his touches brings her. “See you after,” she adds, then with a quick wave, she hurries inside to line up with the rest of the MA recipients.

 

Afterward, they make a brief stop at her program’s graduation party, which is being held in the East Village. It’s scheduled to go from four until seven in the evening, but Betty, Jughead and her parents only stay for an hour and a half so that they have time to go back to the Brooklyn apartment and change for dinner.

 

Her parents had made reservations months ago at the River Cafe, an upscale restaurant in Brooklyn that neither Betty nor Jughead have been to before. It’s definitely too rich for her blood - and his - but since it’s a special occasion, Betty hadn’t objected to their choice. She’s wearing a new dress, too, a white A-line piece with a conservative neckline and a tasteful length to her knees, which she hopes she’ll be able to repurpose for her new job if necessary. Jughead is also dressed nicely, with pressed grey slacks, a muted green button-up, and (for once) unironic suspenders. He’d drawn the line at wearing a tie but agreed once more to leave his beanie at home, which Betty knows is a huge sacrifice. He looks incredibly handsome, but she likes him in his ripped jeans and his old t-shirts just as much.

 

They take an Uber to the restaurant because Betty doesn’t want to walk both ways in her heels, and they’re planning on guiding her parents home along the river afterward. She slips her hand into Jughead’s as they approach the door and smiles kindly at the employee that holds it open for them. “Thank you,” she says.

 

“You’re welcome, ma’am. Welcome to the River Cafe.”

 

They step inside and are seated immediately at a table beside the grand windows. They have a beautiful view of Manhattan from their table. As she marvels at it, Jughead’s hand tightens on hers under the table, and she glances over at him. He’s looking at her with an expression that she can’t quite read, but the slant of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw are betraying his discomfort his surroundings.

 

Betty understands, at least a little. This isn’t really his scene. He had to dress up, couldn’t wear his favourite old hat, and has to sit through an expensive dinner with her parents. She squeezes his hand in response and offers him a little smile, hoping to relax him a little, but it doesn’t seem to work that well. Even when Jughead looks like he fits in (and he does, Betty thinks, especially with his model-high cheekbones in his new shirt), the perpetual outsider in him is making him appear tremendously uncomfortable.

 

Her mother orders the duck breast and Betty has the halibut. Both her father and Jughead have steaks, all of which come with a variable potato dish and steamed vegetables. She isn’t quite sure exactly how much everything is costing, but then her mother orders a bottle of wine and Betty knows that this will be an expensive meal. She finds herself wishing, despite how lovely the dinner is, that tonight was just her and Jughead, and that they were sitting on the couch in their shoddy apartment eating pad thai.

 

Toward the end of the meal, her mother pulls a small wrapped box from her shoulder bag. Betty had assumed that the meal and her parents’ presence at the ceremony were their gift, especially since they’d paid for her new laptop just before she’d moved to New York, so when she opens the box to see a beautiful watch with the year engraved on the back, she’s surprised.

 

“We’re very proud of you,” Alice Cooper says, leaning back against her husband’s outstretched arm and beaming at Betty. “Seeing how hard you’ve worked at your studies and the nice life you’ve built for yourself in New York - well, your father and I are just very proud, and we love you very much. Congratulations, Betty.”

 

“You’re really all grown up now,” Hal interjects, nodding at his wife’s words. “Our little girl. The world is your oyster, pumpkin, and your mom and I can’t wait to watch you conquer it.”

 

Betty is touched. When she’d graduated with her bachelor’s degree, her parents had taken her for a similar celebration, but they’d spent nearly the entire dinner giving her veritable lists of advice about living in the city and about her choice of journalism as a career. Today’s sentiments of love and pride are a significant departure. She knows to attribute at least part of that to the now-empty bottle of red on the table, but she decides that she’s also going to accept their congratulations as honestly given.

 

Maybe they were all growing a little.

 

The walk back begins with Betty and her mother trailing behind Jughead and her father, who seem to be having an intentionally-quiet discussion. Jughead looks slightly agitated, but Betty is also trying to concentrate on the story her mother is telling her, and she’s unable to listen hard enough to hear what they’re talking about. After ten minutes, he falls back to walk beside Betty, and Alice moves ahead to join Hal.

 

“Everything okay?” Betty asks, leaning into Jughead’s side as he drapes an arm protectively around her.

 

He nods but doesn’t look at her right away. “Yeah,” he says in a muted tone, pressing an unexpected kiss to her temple as their pace slows. “Congratulations again, baby.”

 

 

By the time they get back to their apartment, it’s clear that the wine has taken a toll on Alice Cooper. Jughead immediately busies himself in the kitchen while Betty says goodnight to her parents. Her mother gives Betty another uncharacteristically warm hug before Hal hauls her off to the spare room to go to sleep, and Betty approaches Jughead with a still-amused smile on her face.

 

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she says, sliding her arms around his waist from behind. He’s rearranging the jars in their spice rack, dismantling the careful alphabetical system that Betty had devised, but he abandons the task to cover her hands with his.

 

“Okay, I’ll be there right away,” Jughead says, squeezing her wrists briefly and then releasing them.

 

Betty floats away to their bedroom, still smiling. She feels like a stupid teenager, but it’s not lost on her that her graduation is also a strange anniversary of sorts for them, given that she only moved to the city and met him in the first place because of this program. And God, how glad she is that she did; he’s been so wonderful to her, especially this week, which has been so nice and celebratory. Her parents are both wine drunk and will sleep like the dead, especially her mother, and so even though they’re just a room away, Betty takes off her dress, hangs it carefully in the closet, and changes into sexier underwear.

 

She might be a little wine-drunk, too, Betty thinks, feeling the happy burn of pleasure south of her abdomen as she sits back against the headboard. She drops her hand to her thigh, lets her thumb brush between her legs, and smiles sweetly at Jughead as he enters the room.

 

“Hey Betts, is now a good time for...” Jughead trails off when he sees her, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. He clears his throat. “I, uh, wanted to give you my gift.”

 

Betty stills her hand, then moves it onto the bed. “What?!”

 

“Graduation gift,” he elaborates, turning and walking over to the closet. He bends down and digs way in the back, coming out with a large box wrapped in plain purple paper. There’s a yellow sticky note attached to the top that simply says _‘for Betty’._

 

Jughead sets it on the bed and sinks down beside it. His eyes are darting back and forth between it and Betty, who recognizes his nervousness and smiles at him. “Juggie, you didn’t need to get me anything.”

 

“I wanted to.” He scratches his neck awkwardly. “Open it.”

 

So she does, carefully pulling back the corners of the paper and then unfolding the top of the box. She dislodges the tissue paper that’s at the top and gasps when she sees what’s inside. “Oh, Jughead,” she breathes.

 

It’s a beautiful professional satchel made of buttery, cognac-coloured leather, soft to the touch and absolutely gorgeous. Betty recognizes the brand and inhales sharply; this bag has to be at least four hundred dollars. She can’t believe he did this.

 

Jughead’s voice jars Betty from her thoughts. “Is it okay?” he’s asking. “I asked Veronica for help. I thought you could use it at your new job.”

 

Betty shakes her head wordlessly, still in disbelief. What a sweet man, she thinks, lifting her hands to his face. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispers, then kisses him.

 

Jughead kisses her back, his hand cupping her cheek delicately. She can feel the intensity in his lips, but he’s not moving to deepen the kiss, nor is he touching her waist or even asking for permission the way he always does when she approaches him in a state of undress. Of course, he’s not under any obligation _at all_ to be interested in sex all the time, but - well, he doesn’t usually turn her down, so Betty is a little surprised. Especially right now, when she’s even wearing his favourite lacy pink thong.

 

“Is everything okay?” Betty asks when the kiss breaks, peering at him a bit more closely than usual.

 

His blue eyes betray nothing. He makes a noncommittal noise, then gets off the bed, grabs his beanie from the top of his dresser, and shoves it on his head. Betty watches him slowly pace in a small circle, then he takes his suspenders off and untucks his shirt. Something is definitely wrong, she realizes. Caramel is following his feet across the rough, old hardwood, and he’s completely ignoring her.

 

Finally, Jughead sits down on the edge of their bed. “I tried to give your dad money,” he says, running a hand over his face.

 

Betty frowns. “What?”

 

“For dinner, I tried to give your dad money for dinner,” Jughead replies, screwing his eyes shut in concentration and resting his forehead to the heel of his palm. “He wouldn’t take it. Said I probably should save up instead, and I - he’s _right,_ Betty, I need that money.”

 

Betty shifts closer to him on the bedspread and gently places a hand onto his forearm. “That place was one hundred percent my parents’ pick,” she tells him quietly. “They offered to take us out, and while I feel a little bad about how expensive it was too, it was their choice. It was just one time, Juggie. Don’t let it bother you.”

 

“It’s not just that,” he says, shaking his head and dropping his hand to the bed. “I - fuck, this is just - you in that restaurant in that gorgeous dress, you look so much like you belong. You should have experiences like that. You should have beautiful things. All those important people that shook your hand today for your award - that’s the world they live in. That’s the kind of world you deserve.”

 

Betty’s frown deepens. She curls her hand around his wrist and tugs his hand toward her. “What are you talking about? I don’t - yeah, the River Cafe was nice, but I don’t _want_ that. Where is this coming from?”

 

Jughead shrugs miserably. “I know it’s stupid. But the thought occurred to me a couple of weeks ago when you said we were going there and graduation has just been sort of … hard … I don’t know.” When he looks at her, the hopelessness in his eyes is enough to make Betty’s heart break. “I’m never going to be able to give you that kind of life. I know I’m lucky I got a job out of college, but the deal I got for my book wasn’t that significant. And yeah, I’m a first-time author so my quote will grow, but that was _two years_ of work.”

 

The red light from the neon sign across the street has begun to filter into Jughead’s bedroom again, and Betty is so confused, she doesn’t know where to start. She’d been blessed with a job with the _New York Times_ online department, but she wasn’t the only one who’d received an offer. Jughead had accepted a position as a staff writer for _The Atlantic,_ which Betty was over-the-hills proud of him for. He still gets to freelance, too, which she knows is critical in his corner of their overlapping professional worlds, but he hadn’t seemed satisfied by it.

 

(“It’s been around since 1857, Juggie,” she’d said when he’d broken the news. _“President Lincoln_ read _The Atlantic!”)_

 

But this time, all Betty can focus on is a small tidbit of information that should change everything. “Your book got accepted?” she asks slowly, shocked that he wouldn’t have mentioned it before. “You got a publishing deal? Juggie, that’s - that’s amazing!”

 

Jughead just shrugs again. “I don’t know if this is what I want,” he tells his lap. “Now that school is done, I - I’m just second-guessing everything. It’s like I’m realizing maybe I don’t _actually_ have a vision for what I’m supposed to be doing, because when I got the call about _The Atlantic,_ I just felt kind of blah about it. I always thought that was what I wanted, but maybe it’s not. And if I can’t make money writing what I want, I can’t take care of you.” He groans and shakes his head, more like he’s trying to dislodge bad thoughts than communicating anything. “I don’t mean - I know you can take care of yourself. But I want to be a good partner.”

 

Betty chooses to ignore that for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me you got a deal?” she asks, careful to keep her voice soft. Confrontation is not likely to be helpful if he’s feeling uncomfortable; in her experience, it usually just makes everything worse.

 

“I found out a couple of days ago,” Jughead answers, sliding his hand on top of hers and letting her turn his palm to the ceiling. She watches his eyes follow her fingers as she begins to trace abstract patterns on his skin. “But this week is supposed to be about you and the things that you’ve accomplished. Your project, Betty - you’re affecting real change, and that deserves an uninterrupted celebration. I wanted you to have that. Especially since I know how difficult it’s been for you to produce that.”

 

Betty has a million things to say right now, but for the moment all she do is shake her head at him. Of course, she’s proud of herself, but Jughead has been working just as hard on his book as she has on her project, if not moreso. She’s seen the bags under his eyes and been there for the sleepless nights, because even if Betty is a type-A, perfectionist overachiever, Jughead as a writer is practically relentless in the pursuit of his vision. For his work to be published - Betty’s never been so proud of him. She knows that he’d thought the publication was a longshot, and this has to be so validating for him.

 

So she kisses him again, wrapping her arms first around his neck and then her legs around his waist, squeezing his whole body tightly with hers. Jughead returns the hug, letting his hands slide up the expanse of skin on her back, and sighs into her neck when the kiss breaks. Betty is staring at the dust on the windowsill and trying to relax into his touch when he begins to speak again.

 

“I know I’m supposed to be happy,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking her shoulderblades. “And I am, really. But I’m so fucking scared, too. You’re going to be meeting all kinds of interesting and worldly people who are all better than me, and I - what if I’m not enough for you? What if I can’t give you the life that you--”

 

“Shut up, Jughead,” Betty says, her voice snapping a bit more harshly than she’d intended. She swallows and takes extra care to lighten it before she continues. “I’m sorry. But you have to quit talking like that. I liked the dinner and it was a nice night, but this is the life that my mother wants for me. It’s not the life I want for myself. _This_ is the life I want,” she assures him, rubbing her thumb over his cheek. “Okay? She and my dad don’t get to decide what’s enough for me, or what I want. And neither do you, by the way. _I_ decide. And I don’t give a shit about money and fancy stuff. I love this bag, but I don’t _need_ it. That’s Veronica. I don’t have appearances to keep up, I don’t care, not as long as I have my friends and my family and _especially_ as long as I have you.”

 

Jughead’s eyes close briefly. His forehead falls against hers. “Betty.”

 

“I love you,” Betty continues, pressing his face back again so he’s forced to look at her. Her throat feels clogged. “I love you so, _so_ much. I still can’t believe that the greatest guy in the world was just sitting here, waiting for me on Craigslist. So quit thinking this way, please. You will _always_ be enough, Jughead. _I’m_ the lucky one.” She blinks away hot tears, feeling horrible that she hadn’t noticed his insecurities until it got to this point. God. What kind of girlfriend is she? “Please say you believe me.”

 

The air in the bedroom is heavy and quiet for three of the longest minutes of Betty’s life. Then Jughead nods, visibly swallows, and mumbles, “I believe you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Just over a week later, Betty is back in Manhattan, walking south down Fifth Avenue in a pair of ill-advised aegean blue heels. They’re going to kill her feet by the end of the day, but they perfectly match both her silk sleeveless top and the floral pattern on her new white skirt, so despite her better judgement she’s decided to play fashion victim. Beside her is the familiar fall of heavy boots, worn with an equally familiar combination of blue flannel and dark jeans. Even the name of her companion - Forsythe Jones - is familiar. Only this particular Forsythe is the second of the three that have existed, and unlike his son, he bears the visible scars of time and bad decisions.

 

Today, though, there is no sign of those decisions. Today, Jughead’s father gets to watch his son graduate with his Masters of Fine Arts degree, and there’s a decidedly unfamiliar wide smile splitting his face.

 

Betty met FP at Union Square station, because Jughead had needed to be at the commencement venue earlier than FP was able to get to the city, and now they're heading towards the famed First Presbyterian Church on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Twelfth Street in Greenwich Village. Jughead’s MFA in Nonfiction Creative Writing is through the New School’s School of Public Engagement, which is having a smaller commencement ceremony at the church ahead of the university’s main commencement a few days later in Queens. Jughead had drawn the line at the huge communal celebration, but Betty had managed to convince Jughead to attend SPE’s ceremony.

 

Inviting his father had been sort of an afterthought for Jughead, who'd expressed surprise at the speed with which his father committed to attending. Betty isn't sure if it's Jughead's personal biases overshadowing reality or if she's just been out of touch since she's known him, but when it comes to FP’s quest to rebuild his relationship with Jughead, the last thing Betty feels is surprise. It's clear that the older FP Jones _wants_ to be a good man who is stable in his sobriety, and honestly, for the last year and a half he seems to be doing pretty well. Jughead's obvious carefulness around his father has carried forward anyway, because as Betty is occasionally reminded, this is not the first time that things seemed different.

 

All of that aside, she can’t help but feel happy for FP. When she’d first met Jughead, he’d been a broody, sarcastic guy whose standoffishness wasn’t so much him being unfriendly as it was him being protective of his own mental and emotional well-being. That Betty could understand, especially once she became privy to his family history. And in a lot of ways, Jughead is still that same guy: he hasn’t lost his acerbic wit and or his hard shell, and he’s unlikely to be winning any Mr. Congeniality awards soon. But he _has_ softened a bit around the edges. He’s let her push him out of his social comfort zone, and overall he seems to be holding onto a lot less anger. Betty knows that Jughead would give her the credit for a lot of that progression (and sure, that’s probably somewhat accurate), but she thinks that much of it can also be attributed to his partial re-engagement with his father, and to a lesser extent, his sister. From what she’s seen, the reconnection has been good for FP, too.

 

Betty leads FP up to the church, smiling politely at the usher who takes two graduation tickets from her hand. The man glances behind her at FP, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Is he with you?”

 

Betty opens her mouth to respond, intending to add a slightly catty edge to her voice (who the hell does this guy think he is, passing judgement on FP? Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, and he’s probably the only guest here wearing leather in late May, but he’s still a _person) -_ but FP interjects before she can speak.

 

“Yeah, sorry, I should’ve been paying attention,” he says, shaking the man’s hand. He smiles broadly, seemingly oblivious to the usher’s acrimony. “My son’s graduating today!”

 

To his credit, the usher cracks a smile. “That’s great, sir. You guys can go in.”

 

Betty bites her lip against a smile and gestures for FP to follow her. She finds the guest seating, which is elevated above the main collection of pews, and sits down to watch the graduates file in. She makes idle chitchat with both FP and the woman sitting to her right, and is about to comment on the colour of the robes when FP suddenly scoots forward, taps her arm, and says, “It’s Jughead!”

 

And sure enough, there he is, shuffling in while glancing up at his hat in mildly annoyance, clearly perturbed at once again not being able to wear his beanie. Betty snaps a photo on her phone. To her left, FP is doing the same. He doesn’t stop once Jughead is sitting down, either; by the time Jughead actually lines up to accept his degree, Betty’s pretty sure FP must have fifty photos of his son sitting amongst his classmates.

 

FP sheds a few tears when Jughead walks across and shakes the dean’s hand, and unlike her stoic and quiet parents, he lets out a loud whoop. Jughead looks up in their general direction, a clear expression of both amusement and embarrassment on his face. Betty giggles and snaps a few more photos, then glances at FP, who is beaming with pride.

 

“I never thought I’d see this day,” he tells Betty, swiping unself-consciously at his eyes. “The Joneses … we’re not an educated family. But today that changes.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ll never forgive myself for missing the first one of these things he had. I know it must have taken some convincing to get him to come to another, but I’m glad he did. Thank you, Betty.”

 

Betty smiles warmly at him and squeezes his forearm briefly. “You’re welcome, Mr. Jones. I’m really glad you could come. And he might not outright say it, but Jughead is glad too.”

 

They sit respectfully as the rest of the graduates accept their degrees, then head outside to the garden to meet up with Jughead. Betty lingers underneath a tree off to the side, having decided to let FP locate his son. There are people weaving in and out and knocking into one another as they jockey for the best photo locations, and she’s just slightly uncomfortable with the busy crowd.

 

The feeling evaporates as soon as she sees Jughead, who’s heading toward her in his cap and gown with FP in tow. She hugs him as soon as he gets close enough, trapping him with her arms around his shoulders, and gives him a quick kiss. “Congratulations, Juggie,” she says.

 

“Thanks, Betts,” Jughead says, squeezing her waist. His eyes dart quickly to the happy crowd around them, which is growing as more parents and guests stream out of the church. “There’s a smaller spot on the other side. Let’s go there to take a couple pictures, it’s nicer.”

 

“I’m okay,” Betty tells him quietly, but she lets him take her hand anyway. He guides her around the side of the church until they’re in a less densely populated location, FP following behind, then lets go of her hand.

 

She takes a few photos of Jughead by himself and then with his dad, still touched by the huge smile that’s on FP’s face. FP returns the favour, snapping a couple of shots of the two of them, then waits with her on a bench when Jughead goes to return his gown.

 

“I hope you’re hungry,” Betty tells FP. “I’ve got a lot of food coming.” Jughead hadn’t wanted a fancy dinner out, and after the experience they’d had with her parents, Betty has no objections. Still, it’s his graduation, so she’s planned a special meal of sorts anyway. She’s had a pork tenderloin in the crockpot all day, and plans on serving it with thickened gravy and potatoes, among other things.

 

“I’m always hungry, Betty.”

 

She laughs. “The Jones appetite is an incredible thing.”

 

On the subway back, Betty sits in her usual with-Jughead seat, situated between him and the side of the train. His dad is sitting in front of them but he’s turned sideways to continue a conversation he’d started with Jughead about an old friend of his from back in the day who has recently come to work with him in Albany. Jughead actually remembers the guy in question and seems genuinely interested in the new development, so he’s leaning forward a little to talk to his dad without needing to speak unnecessarily loudly. His hand is resting on her knee, fingers tapping an unfamiliar rhythm.

 

Betty takes the opportunity to review some of the photos FP had taken of her and Jughead. She picks a cute one where she’s kissing his cheek and posts it to her rarely-used Instagram with the caption, **The most incredible man I know. So proud of you!** Almost immediately, it earns her several likes, including one from Jellybean (who had sent a card and called Jughead a couple of days beforehand) and a few teasing comments from Archie. She shows Jughead as soon as his conversation with FP falls off.

 

“You’re making me internet famous,” he comments.

 

She laughs. “That’s not how the internet works.”

 

 

As soon as they walk into their apartment, the flavours from Betty’s crockpot hit her nose immediately - brown sugar rub, balsamic marinade. She busies herself in the kitchen almost immediately, setting a cookie sheet of prepared prosciutto-wrapped asparagus into the oven for a couple of minutes. As soon as they’re done, she puts them on a tray and brings them out to Jughead and his dad the living room, where Caramel has made herself at home in a vaguely amused FP’s lap.

 

While the Jones men snack on that, Betty makes one of Jughead’s favourites - mashed potatoes - to go along with the pork she’s prepared. She adds extra butter to smooth it even further, then whips them to perfection. As soon as they’re done, Betty makes up three plates, brings them out to the living room, and they eat together. There’s homemade cheesecake for dessert, then she retreats once more into the kitchen while Jughead says goodbye to FP, who has to leave in order to catch his bus back to Albany.

 

“Thanks being here, Dad,” Betty overhears Jughead say gruffly. “It was nice.”

 

“Yeah,” FP replies. There’s rustling heard; Betty imagines he’s grabbing his leather jacket. “Thanks for letting me come. I’m proud of you, kid. Really proud.”

 

“Back at you, Dad.” The unmistakable _thump_ of an unplanned hug is heard, and then Jughead appears around the corner by the door with FP just behind him.

 

“Thanks for dinner, Betty,” FP tells her, slipping his boots back on. “It was delicious.”

 

Betty wipes her hands on a tea-towel and goes over to him, offering a brief hug. “Anytime. Have a good trip back, Mr. Jones.”

 

“It’s FP, Betty. I can’t tell you enough times.” FP opens the door, grins at them both, and then closes it behind himself.

 

Betty returns to the kitchen to finish up with the dishes. She has some pretty elaborate plans for the rest of the night that primarily involve the two of them being at least half-naked (or fully naked; she’s not picky), but she wants to get the remnants of their dinner dealt with before they move onto that part of the evening.

 

Jughead doesn’t seem to share her sentiments about the cleanliness of their kitchen, because he wraps his arms around her waist and presses a kiss to her neck. It’s heavy with intention, and - well, _fuck it,_ Betty thinks. She turns in his arms and kisses him, lifting his shirt off and then drumming her fingertips on his shoulder blades to encourage him to begin divesting of her clothing as well.

 

He obeys, dragging the side zipper of her new skirt down until it lands on the floor in a pile of blue and white florals, then squeezes her ass playfully. “You know where my favourite place for your clothes is?” he asks, dragging his lips along her chin to her ear.

 

“The ground?” Betty guesses, giggling as she fumbles with the button on his pants.

 

“The ground, a lamp shade, the couch,” Jughead confirms, his thumbs trailing down the front of her shirt, unbuttoning the silk as he goes. He pushes it off her shoulders and steps out of his jeans, which Betty finally managed to remove. “Basically, just not on you.”

 

The giggle that Betty lets out turns into a squeal as Jughead scoops her up unexpectedly, lifting her over his shoulder. She watches Caramel dart out of the way as he carries her to the living room. He sets her down on the couch, taking full advantage of the opportunity to grope her ass, and then settles himself on top of her.

 

They make out for a while, lazy tongues and hands slowly running over familiar territory. He’s such a good kisser, which is vaguely surprising for someone who doesn’t seem to have had that much dating experience before her, and Betty assumes that like with a lot of things involving her, he just gets it. He’s a natural, keenly aware of makes her comfortable and what doesn’t, knows just where on her throat to kiss her so that her back will arch and he’ll be able to unhook her bra.

 

But she’s a natural with him too, careful always to catch his earlobe in her teeth the way he likes and to scratch his shoulder blades so that he can see the red marks in the morning. And when she wraps her legs around Jughead’s waist and presses herself firmly against him, Betty knows that he’ll take charge.

 

And so he does, getting off her and then scooping her up once more to carry her to the bedroom. In their eagerness, she accidentally smacks the side of her head on the hallway entrance. She moves one hand from around Jughead’s neck to touch her temple, and once she’s deduced that she’s still in one piece, she says, "Y’know, if we lived in a bigger apartment, this wouldn’t be a risk.”

 

It’s meant to be an offhand comment, an allusion to the very casual perusal of classifieds and rent ads that Betty has undertaken lately. She’s not in any rush to leave Brooklyn, really, but she does figure that it would be nice to be on the island now that they’ll both be working there, so she’s been glancing every now and then at Manhattan apartments. Unfortunately, Jughead doesn’t seem to agree.

 

He sets her down on the bed, clearly distracted by her near-nakedness, says dismissively, “I don’t want to move,” and leans in to kiss her.

 

Something about his tone pauses the swirling pleasure in Betty’s head, and she raises a hand to his chest to stop him. “Maybe not right now, but don’t you think it’d be nice to be in Manhattan, Juggie? Maybe within six months? Somewhere a little bigger, a little nicer.”

 

Jughead raises an eyebrow and looks at her with slight annoyance in his blue eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with this apartment. It’s nice enough, especially since you moved in. Besides, a new place would freak Caramel out.”

 

She pauses, frowning curiously at him. Jughead seems far more irritated than she thinks is reasonable. All of her instincts are telling her to drop it - it’s his graduation day, he deserves to have a nice night free of her nagging, and nothing can be gained at this point from pushing any further - but Betty finds herself speaking again anyway. “Caramel would adjust fine, she’s a cat. And I dunno, Juggie, we have jobs now. It’d be nice to live in an adult’s apartment within the year, at least.”

 

He’s quiet, dropping his hands from her. “Why?” he finally asks.

 

Betty’s taken aback by the question. What does he mean, _why?_ She looks at him with a somewhat blank expression on her face and says, “Because that’s what happens, Jug. We went to grad school, we graduated. Now we get to move into the next part of our lives - better jobs, better apartment, different parks, different markets … doesn’t that sound exciting?!” she asks. When he doesn’t reply right away, Betty feels her heart drop and hears her own voice falter slightly as she adds, “At least, _I’m_ excited for our future. Aren’t you?”

 

Jughead drops his face into his hands and rubs it. Then he lets out a long, heavy sigh, and mutters, “That’s a lot of change at once, Betts.”

 

“What do you mean?” Betty asks, but he doesn’t respond and she sits there for a moment, at a loss. She’s suddenly feeling too exposed, both physically and emotionally. It’s a feeling she hasn’t had with Jughead in a long time, and Betty doesn’t like that it’s making a reappearance. She can sense that he’s overwhelmed and obviously conflicted over something, but she doesn’t know how to help him. The one thing she does know is that the mood is clearly broken, so she gets up and pulls on a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt.

 

With his curious eyes on her, she goes to the closet and pulls out her graduation gift for him, which she now feels a little foolish about. It’s a fountain pen - a rather expensive one, meant to symbolize his passion for writing and the huge achievement that is his MFA - along with a note that, when she’d written it, had seemed heartfelt and honest. Now, her letter about how much she loves and appreciates him and how excited she is for all of the new things that they get to experience together feels out of place. She doesn’t want to press him further on ‘ _their future’_ if he’s already feeling vulnerable, but Betty’s also been learning to stand by her own feelings lately so she decides to throw caution to the wind and gives him the whole package anyway.

 

Jughead stares at the card and slim box, wrapped carefully in dark blue paper. “Betty-”

 

“It’s okay, Juggie,” she interrupts. She is not the dramatic girlfriend who storms out, even if his reticence to elaborate on what ‘a lot of change’ means does bother her. Instead, she scoops Caramel up from the discarded sweater she’s burrowed herself into and goes to the living room.

 

Betty makes it twenty minutes through an episode of _Criminal Minds_ before Jughead makes an appearance. His eyes are a little red and he looks more exhausted than he has all week. Before Betty can decide if she wants to say anything, he sinks onto the couch beside her, wraps his arms around her, and burrows his face in her neck. She’s tense initially, but Jughead's presence is irrevocably and uncontrollably calming for her, and she relaxes after a few seconds.

 

“Everything is changing, Betty,” he finally says, the words muffled by her shoulder. “I went to grad school two years ago to get a leg up in the writing world, yeah, but also to buy myself some time to figure out what the hell I was doing. Like, broadly.” He moves his head slightly, and his words become clearer. “I always wanted to be a writer, but did I _actually?_ And why? Have I just had that in my head for so long that I want to be a writer because I want to be a writer?” He groans and sits up.

 

Betty watches his face carefully. He looks terribly young and old at the same time. “And what did you find out after those two years?”

 

“That I do want to be a writer,” Jughead answers. “I'm just not sure that _The Atlantic_ is the right fit. I'm also not sure that full length books is the right way either. It feels like I just replaced one problem with another.” He runs a hand over his face again, rubbing his eyes. “Two years ago I had this career and life angst. Now I still have career angst, but my life is a lot better. My dad is back in my life. My sister is back in my life. I wouldn't have thought that two years ago. But there's another thing, too. There's you.”

 

Betty swallows. “Yeah, there's potpourri in the bathroom now,” she jokes weakly, intimidated by the intensity in Jughead's eyes.

 

He shakes his head and tugs her closer, putting his arms around her again. “I definitely didn't have you in my plan. You changed everything. But for as freaked out and confused as I am about graduating and working and all of the new shit that's coming, I am _not_ freaked out and confused about you.” He kisses her softly, his thumb coming to swipe at her cheekbone, and drops his voice to a near-whisper. “Being with you has showed me that I really am just as clueless and dumb as every other dude out there sometimes. That includes making you think that I'm not excited for our future. Am I scared as hell?  Yeah. Do I feel like a total imposter half the time? Also yeah. But with you, Betts, I swear sometimes I feel like I can do anything.”

 

“You _can,”_ Betty insists immediately, grabbing his face and looking into his mildly startled eyes. “You can do anything.”

 

 _“We_ can.” Jughead’s eyes pass over her face admiringly, and _god,_ Betty feels fucking invincible when he looks at her like this.

  
So she nods, bites her lip into a smile, and holds his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this. Please leave me a comment and let me know what you thought. I continue to be floored by the love for this universe.


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